


4 Times Lita Hit on Her Teammates (And That Time They Were A Family)

by thesethingshavei



Category: WWE, wrestling - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Crack, F/M, Lita's Come Back, Lita's Firmly Entrenched In Heel Country, more crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesethingshavei/pseuds/thesethingshavei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a story I'd been meaning to write: Lita in Evolution and conflicted. Opening: Evolution's hotel room, the newly crowned Women's Champ bitter but understanding of what she's done. Uneasy about the mentorship she's receiving from Ric, her friendship with Randy, and the feeling in the back of her head that knows HHH can't be trusted.</p>
<p>This is not that story. This is crack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cross posted to fan fiction.met under Get Real Or Die</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Times Lita Hit on Her Teammates (And That Time They Were A Family)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: language, mention of drugs, jokes about Trish Stratus, all the crack, blatant Lita love, and I think I found a new otp, kink, and appreciation for Randy Orton's Hardcore match with Mick Foley
> 
> AN: So excited to be back and writing again. Try not to leave you guys hanging on this one.
> 
> Unbetad
> 
> Please respect the mature rating on the tag people. Kind of got away from me

1\. Ric Flair

Lita's drunk as shit the first time she hits on Ric.

"And i know i'm pretty drunk right now and it is NOT the drunkest I've ever been okay. There was this one time the night Jeff won the hardcore title where we were passing a bottle of Jaeger in between us counting to ten at each other and gulping while Matt headbanged around the room and it was bad. Just so so bad. I cried, Jeff cried, Matt moshed so hard he gave himself a nosebleed. I vom in the sink so much it stops it up and i come to the next morning just to find Jeff sucking his thumb (crying tears of joy IN his sleep) cradling the hardcore title, Matt with his hand down his boxers holding my hand hostage on his dick and the poor cleaning lady? She is babbling in terrified Spanish as she futiley tries to scrub "Team Extreme Wuz Here (And Better Than E & C)" off the ceiling. And to this day don't know how or why it got there? Underneath was "Boo; you whores - Sincurly Edge" which what? I guess Edge was there then which if I remember it right pretty sure we were beefing hardcore with those guys. BUT NOT MORE HARDCORE THAN RANDY WHIPPING MICK FOLEY'S ASS THIS SUNDAY RIGHT ORTON? (To the left of where Lita's drunkenly clutching this poor bastard's leg while he looks down at her in horror at the deluge of words coming out of her mouth, Intercontinental Champion Randy Orton raises his fists in pre-triumph {also like he's double fist bumping the big man upstairs in thanks for that oily glistening look we all covet} and says "Randy!" which you could barely hear over the saran wrap that had been slowly suffocating him for the last three minutes but ya know what? HHH is NOT Randy's keeper and besides? If he wants to play with plastic and bubble wrap he'd best learn not to wrap it around himself like a boa constrictor then? Get it? Wrap? {Blank stares and all the crickets} Oh I'm sorry Trips can't make a joke? The man used to have Stephanie in stitches okay? And yeah it was mostly about Trish Stratus' lazy eye but i laughed Steph laughed and I AM FUNNY DAMMNIT {more stares; more crickets} Naitch! I just I try so freakin hard and no one cares. There, there champ.

There there.)

The power point I was trying to make is that i've been drunker in my time and that's not even counting the night I won the women's title ("Which you're gonna win again next Sunday at Backlash '04, after you whoop Victoria's candy ass all over Edmonton, Alberta Canada ain't that right girl?") That's right Randy! Oh good he got himself free. Wouldva gone over there but didnt want to get up TOO go over there ya know? Which again digressing from my point? But we SERIOUSLY DESPARATELY need to have an intervention for him. And I know it got really bad and kind of dangerous to be in the room with him after I fake-real intervened on HHH for how he used to pretend to be upper crust and wear ascots not to pick up chicks, not to lull guys into a false sense of security and roll them for their wallets but just so he could get Lillian Garcia to let him throw hot quarters he boiled with a hotplate (that'd he'd make her bring) at her while she skipped around the room to Depeche Mode's Stripped because and i quote "I needed her to believe that's how we did it in Connecticut" cause seriously? Its wierd that he ever did that and its wierd i just said it. Let us never speak of it again.

Anywho...

Its WIERD that they don't even like each other, but everytime one of them calls the other? The Rock and Randy have these deeply intense, meaningful conversations about what it truly means to be a 3rd Generation Wrestler. And that'd be fine if it was just giving Randy perspective about his life and place in wrestling history but oh my god. I walk into this very suite the other day and he was wistfully jug blowing while Rock sang 'Ol Man River' via speakerphone. And I'm pretty sure that other sound I heard? Was Rocky playing a washboard wherever the hell he was. And do you know where he was when i listened real good and noticed 'wait a minute that sounds like its somewhere in this hotel'? Naked in HHH's bed. And as he was quick to assure me: "No homo Lita. Just like to skip washing my struedel for a few days, come over and funk up Helmsley's bed". And went right back to singing and playing that washboard and then got mad when i asked him if i could use it real quick to scrub Stratus' blood out of my top. Told me to pre-soak it with some Woolite.

Pre-soak?

WOOLITE!?

I got skank blood all over my suede and you're making my best friend's heart break with your slavery-era tuneage and that's all fine and good? But what!? You guys may have spoiled me with your dry cleaner reccomendations but i'll be damned if these hands ever pre soak anything ever again. Well except really crusty dishes but that's because dishwashers are witches, ("Lita! For the last time? Dishwashers arent witches. You were just 3rd world poor growing up.") its kind of soothing, and no one scrubs a fork like i do. TWO WORDS FOR YOU FEARLESS LEADER: HOT QUARTERS! Don't hate on my beliefs yo. Anyway I'm drunk but not that drunk, we gotta get Randy a rabbit or Stacy Kiebler or something to pet cuz yeah? That little psuedo-friendship those two have WILL end up with one of them clutching the other too tight while he slowly expires under the hot intensity of that sweet Mice And Men brand of good loving. Okay lets get to it.

'Ric I'm pretty drunk right now but I want you to know i mean everything I'm about to say to you. Remember when you and Vince had whipped them out and were playing "who's the thickest" and you used your last draft pick on me? Vinnie Mac laughed but I was confused too. And Bischoff has done some awful things to me (him not keeping his pinky up when we play tea party, the way he makes it clear everytime with his laser eyes that he wants to see me naked not for the love of my nakedness but so he can get a camera, snap a pic and move units on the finished product all because 'its just good bidness') but he has never once ever given me that sense of confusion. And I was happy being the last draft pick but I didn't get it until i did and Ric?

I think I lost my heart to you on March 25th 2002.

Because I got what you were saying and it MOVED me. There's only one title in the world for me to compete for one title that matters; its my world heavyweight championship, its my tag titles and its my intercontinental belt all rolled into one. And that is the WWE Women's title. And you can guarantee I intend to get it back. But that night I could've been drafted to Smackdown where there's nothing for me to compete for. And yes I would've done my job to the best of my ability but I AM A CHAMPION Naitch. I'm not here to play games or be broken up with on national tv (twice ha!) or look good at ringside (though i do everytime you gotta admit). I'm a wrestler and it means I wanna wrestle and I wanna win and I wanna win prizes.

I wanna win that top prize.

And it could've been taken from me in the blink of an eye. And yes maybe god willing Smackdown will get a Women's Title one day but maybe this IS the booze talking but you know what? Bet ya itd be some awful gender conforming monstrosity you'd look at and think, even during epic battles and tiny arrogant monsters getting their record shattered by some hardcore British little ball of awesome, THAT is not my title and its damn sure not the one i one day plan on to go back in time and win off Moolah.

("What?!" Said poor confused bastard who's straining forward to hear Lita's whispered monologue)

Don't worry I'll come see about you. And if Smackdown did get a Women's Title? You're damn right I'd strap them both on and sashay up and down the halls going "Hmm. I used to look good and now? Now I look great." But we ain't got that technology just yet. And my focus is on my match with Icky Vicky (don't give her meds for her cray cause they straight make her sicky) and as Randy so eloquently put it? I will whoop her candy ass all over Canada and can u please please please be there afterwards so we can put her on the shelf? Cuz that little skinny asian trick and lard ass need to be dealt with brutally and I can't have Victoria around being all "Ooh I'm Vicky. You know I'm wearing this eyepatch cuz I burned my cornea after you put me through that flaming table". I mean come on make the transformation; get a monocle, cane and top hat just change your ring name to Ms. Peanut and stop your bitching am i right. Also? Planning to put all them bitches through tables til i can get a table match and do it for real.

So I'm at home lying on my back, neck immoble not knowing if i could get through the day. And i'm laying there staring at the ceiling, bored out of my ever loving mind, sick with the realization that "fuck maybe this is it". And i regretted every match I never had, all the ones I lost and just thought "I'll come back at you ten times harder next RAW." I was sitting there and I realised maybe there would never be another RAW for me again. Eventually I fell asleep and I'm dreaming that I'm at the gynecologist. Its the usual trip for me with the usual thoughts in my head: "Oh my god get away from there; that's not your vagina its my vagina." "Does having a woman touch you down there make you a lesbian even if its for medical reasons or does it just depend on whether you tip her after or not?" "Is it crass to want to name your vagina or does Tiger Lily sound awesomely perfect?"

And i got my feet in the stirrups and you standup out of nowhere wearing that suit looking exactly like you did that night except you had your ring coat over it. You looked me dead in the eye and said "Lita I need you to come back. I NEED my Women's Champion. Come back baby girl." And you ducked back down and dove in there like Oprah has had to have done with a vat of pudding, like at least once. And its good its so fucking good Ric; your peacock feathers were all tickilly too. And even in my dream I get after it so I pull my legs up pull them around your head and let you go to town. And I wake up having just had the first orgasm I've had in months. And make no mistake? Matt Hardy was an everloving beast in the sack (except for when he started yelling V2.0 when he orgasmed; that was hella lame) and even when I'm exhaused or sad. He always made it good for me but nothing had been good for me lately and I knew I was getting fat."

Randy stumbles into the lounge clearly sleepwalking. He's wearing those tiny pink ring shorts, an old timey sleepy cap and nothing else. Except, of course, for the pair of safety glasses which him and Lita had been trying to wear as much as possible around Victoria to enrage her and give her flashbacks to the day she got in Lita's way that one time too many and Lita had to put her down. Through a table. Also, while this is not an accessary or an article of clothing, there's a barbed wire bat in his hand that he's swiping through the air like a tiny kitty batting yarn.

"Come get it Mick. Come get it on."

"He's so adorable when he sleep wrestles."

After the little tyke is put back down to sleep, Lita continues her story.

"Everything changed after that. I cared less that Matt wasn't around and started focusing on coming back to you. And orgasms aside? I'd figured I had gotten my innate sexiness crossed with the wire in my head that said "I respect this guy" but i start watching your old matches from the 70's and Ric? You were a fox man; just Stone Cold Stunned me with the everything (HHH in his bed, swiping at the air like a pontificating cougar, dreams of getting back his title but more importantly? His place as the funny one in Evolution) and I woulda banged you like the screen door on Dorthy's house flipping through that tornado in a heartbeat but it wasn't you as I knew you through those videos ok.

And it was hella wierd and this dream didn't make me splooge in my sleep bottoms like a loogie but it was good. You were lying down in this field of daisies and I was lying on top of you and we had been laughing about Batista telling Austin "If you can't dodge a wrench you can't dodge The Animal" and then throwing it at him, knocking him out of the ring onto the Spanish Announce Table and powerbombing him THROUGH it. I look down and suddenly youre naked except for your ringcoat again and I'm naked except for these striped red and white socks that make my calves look amazeballs. And i'm riding you but it keeps slipping out. And you're no help at all, telling me to "work for it honey" and you're all sweaty and your face is all flushed and red and leathery looking and I'm looking at you and I hate your ringcoat (I love you man but come on really sometimes) and I hate that you won't help me help you bang me.

But I love you and its the face as I know you as not The Ghost Of Hotness Past. And I'm not in trouble or anything because at this point I still love Matt and he's still kind of shitty and kind of possessive and kind of a dickwad but I know him and I love his face, dat ass, and more importantly I still love him. I love talking to him on the phone on speaker with Jeff (who always says our first kid should be named JJ when he's really saying Jeff Hardy Jr.) love his little chef hat and curlie q mustache he wears when he makes pancakes, and I love that he's waiting for me to come back.

And you were there the ugly day I realized he had wanted me on Smackdown where there was no Women's Title.

And boom I realize this guy has no respect for me, my legacy in this company or what I was trying to rebuild for myself and I know that maybe he never did; not really. But you do Ric. And its not just the training or the encouragement or the proud tear you wiped away after i baseball slid that trashcan right in Matt's smug prick face. I had come back to the hotel room one night because I needed to get my tiny purse, well suited for holding your id, some cash and lipstick in your bra, while in a club where a bunch of e-tards are doing a romp around a crowded room and the music goes hmm hmmm hmmm umph.

(Sadness crosses his face at this point. "Aww why'd you stop?)

And some girl you're banging is moaning like a ghost and I'm pissed and angry and sad and ready to get the tables but more importantly I'm intrigued. In all my imaginings, I had never really factored in the fact you bang chicks like they're two for one at a skank fleamarket. What would it be like to have all that experience, that dedication to working the box focused on me and my box. And I wanna talk to you about art, take walks in the park and buy a turtle named Bart while Randy's afraid of the dark with you if you give me a chance but more importantly I want to give your junk respect the way you respected me that night you changed my life. So Ric would you do me the honor of allowing me to respect your junktal region?"

As she pockets the obviously worn and torn letter and looks up at the only man around an expectant, hesitant look of drunk hope on her face David Bautista can only think one thing in the face of his smallest, drunkest hottest stable mate.

(Allow me to correct the first sentence of my story: Lita's drunk as shit the first time she hits on Ric through Dave.)

Should have went to law school. Should have FUCKING went to law school.

"Lita if you're actually hallucinating I'm Ric right now..."

Lita gives him a sharp look. "You couldn't stop with the weed for one night Dave? Really stoned out of your mind while I lay my soul at your feet? Did that little blonde I had to bounce out of here for spilling my Baja Blast (bitch! I ain't driving to Taco Bell at 3 in the morning) give you some? Because drugs are bad okay they just are. And okay yeah me and Jeff might've split an 8 ball once but that's only because I thought he was talking about splitting open an actual 8 ball and drinking that sweet mysterious liquid and I just got carried away ok. Plus he had just lost the European/Intercontinental Unification Match against RVD so he earned it but now that I think about it? He pretty much just didn't stop." Lita looks sad for a moment. "Had to lie and tell him there were stripper cops where we were going to get him to go to rehab. And if you're asking if they're strippers that are secretly undercover cops or cops that moonlight as strippers or even just strippers dressed like that for their routine, I dont know Dave. Because there weren't really stripper cops where we were going. And I was crying because I was going to miss him and he was crying because I had to drag him to get help for himself but we were really crying about those hypothetical stripper cops. And everytime I tear up no matter what I'm sad about? I'm really deep down inside crying about the lack of stripper cops in the world."

He was gone for so long and now that he's back it feels like he's the only sane person around. "Lita you have to tell someone something that gives them an inkling of what you're talking about? 'May I have your attention' or 'I could use your advice'. You can't just start talking about, and I can't believe I'm saying these words, my tag team partner's junktal area."

"So what do you think then? Do I have a chance? Cuz if there's a percentage somewhere between 1 and 100 my being in short shorts could help? I gotta lot of short shorts David."

What Batista thinks is a really attractive if increasingly strange (man its like she's hit her head on Randy's head or something) girl is drunk as shit and more into his 55 year old mentor then him and seriously? Batista is leaving okay. Dave Bautista is leaving on a jet plane and colonizing an island bringing a legion of hoes with him if he ever comes back again. Because he's not interested in Lita? Are you kidding me!? Matt Hardy looks like he'd like to put some real guns to his head everytime Lita takes notice of him, he had THOUGHT her and Randy were getting it on in some wierd HHH-led attempt to birth a fourth generation superstar, and you don't bang your co-workers if you can avoid it.

But seriously?

Look at his shoulders, look at his face, bite at HIS enticing chin hair. But do not be as hot and drunk as Lita and have no notice of how good he looks in a bathrobe ok?

"Put a pin in that Lita, go get you some water and we'll put talk this over after we hit the gym tomorrow?"

"Will you spot me while I get bench pressed?"

"You really gotta stop letting Hunter do that to you."

Dave Batista is standing up, tying his bathrobe and buying a one-way plane ticket to Whore Island.

And then Lita's grabbing him quick and boozy.

"Sneak hug!"

Okay so maybe Dave's not going anywhere after all.

**Author's Note:**

> AN2: So yeah....let's all acknowledge THAT just happened. Reviews always encouraged and welcome.


End file.
